


sacred & profane

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Parent John Winchester, Blood Magic, Body Worship, Drug Withdrawal, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fisting, Forced Prostitution, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Incest, M/M, Magic, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scars, Smoking, bullshit, but there's still supernatural shit, collaring, implied slavery, the boys don't hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Before bending to speak to Sam, the man skimmed his hand lightly over the top of the car. "God, what I wouldn't give to slip inside you for a few hours, sweetheart." His voice was rougher than sandpaper - probably from smoking too much and sucking so much cock. Sam grimaced at the harsh thought and banished it. That was unfairly harsh of him, and he was in no position to judge.Then, the man bent lower and rested his elbows on the car door through the window. "You're pretty handsome yourself," he said, tossing Sam a wink. The guy was high as a kite - his pupils were pinpricks. Then he smirked.Sam's entire world slammed to a screeching halt, like a train that had thrown the emergency break while going a hundred and twenty miles an hour. It was nearly a physical sensation, it was so intense. "Jesus Christ," Sam whispers.The man laughed and winked again. "For a hundred bucks, you can call me whatever you like, gorgeous. Can I get in, or what?" Sam nodded dumbly, unlocking the car as fast as he could.It wasn't just some random john. It wasn't some strung out guy off the street.This was Dean.





	1. Sam

Sam drove down the street slowly. The posted speed limit was twenty-five, but he was barely hitting fifteen. It was more like an alley, anyway: one way and far darker than the bigger streets he'd just left behind. There were people in clumps up and down the two-mile stretch, clustered together in packs of two or three or sometimes four. Sam didn't stop for any of the too-high heels and short, short skirts. He wasn't interested in any of that tonight. He'd just lost Jess. He wanted something to take his mind off his dead fiance, not remind him of her.

There was a lone figure smoking a cigarette beside a neon green sign for a tattoo shop just a little further down. Thick-soled boots, sinfully tight skinny jeans, a black muscle tee shirt that showed off an inch or show of skin above the jeans and a dark-colored happy trail and miles of muscle, a thick black collar, and two-or-three day old stubble. Sam pulled closer and stopped just a few feet from him. He wasn't disappointed when the man raised his eyebrows and scanned the car appreciatively before tossing the cigarette butt between his fingers into the gutter and stepping over to the window Sam had just rolled down.

Before bending to speak to Sam, the man skimmed his hand lightly over the top of the car. "God, what I wouldn't give to slip inside you for a few hours, sweetheart." His voice was rougher than sandpaper - probably from smoking too much and sucking so much cock. Sam grimaced at the harsh thought and banished it. That was unfairly harsh of him, and he was in no position to judge.

Then, the man bent lower and rested his elbows on the car door through the window. "You're pretty handsome yourself," he said, tossing Sam a wink. The guy was high as a kite - his pupils were pinpricks. Then he smirked.

Sam's entire world slammed to a screeching halt, like a train that had thrown the emergency break while going a hundred and twenty miles an hour. It was nearly a physical sensation, it was so intense. "Jesus Christ," Sam whispers.

The man laughed and winked again. "For a hundred bucks, you can call me whatever you like, gorgeous. Can I get in, or what?" Sam nodded dumbly, unlocking the car as fast as he could.

It wasn't just some random john. It wasn't some strung out guy off the street.

This was _Dean_.

He took a step back and opened the door. Sam watched, his mouth open, as Dean poured himself into the passenger's seat, his spine like liquid. He'd gotten a hell of a lot better at getting in cars than he had been back when Sam had been a kid and had followed Dean to find out exactly what Dean had meant when he'd said he'd take care of getting them enough money for food while Dad had been gone on another of his weird trips. Sam had watched Dean suck off a guy in an alley and get into a car with another one. He'd been ashamed and afraid for Dean. That image had been burned into his mind ever since. He'd used it as motivation to get himself through college, through law school, through everything he'd needed to push through so that, one day, he could make sure Dean never had to do anything like that ever again. Only, when the time had come, he hadn't been able to track down his brother or his father. He'd moved on.

And now Dean was sitting beside him, high and smelling of sex and smoke. Sam swallowed hard and threw the car into gear, but Dean hadn't shut the door yet. It didn't matter if he was eager. He wasn't stupid enough to punch the gas.

"Cash first, big boy, then we can go somewhere else," Dean said, holding out one hand with his fingers curled. Sam slammed the car back into park, then dug his wallet from his breast pocket and grabbed all the cash from inside. He was pretty sure it was a lot more than a hundred bucks, but he really didn't care.

Dean chuckled as he counted out the bills, folded them, and tucked them into his pocket. "Well, shit, honey. What all do you wanna do to me for this much money?" He closed the door and relaxed into the seat, so Sam pulled away from the curb and got them pointed toward the highway as fast as he could.

"Whatever the hell I want," Sam murmured, thinking only of driving straight for Bobby's house. It would take hours to get there, and Sam would _definitely_ need to stop somewhere for coffee and gas and probably to call Bobby and tell him he'd just fucking found Dean, but he could worry about that later. He just needed to get to the interstate first. It would only take about ten or eleven hours, including stops, if they drove straight through.

"Nothing permanent," Dean said, and his voice was stiff and much cooler than it had been when he was being openly flirty and suggestive.

Sam glanced over at him, stricken. "I - I would never hurt you like that, Dean. Never."

Dean's eyes went wide. "How the fuck do you know my name?"

That hurt. Worse than Sam thought it possibly could have. It made… so much sense, though. He found the next parking lot he could - for a BigGersson's, no surprise there - and pulled in immediately. He turned and looked at Dean.

"It - it's me, Dean. It's Sam. Your brother." He said it slowly.

"Sammy?" Dean blinked, slow and syrupy, and he sounded so uncertain.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said with a small, encouraging smile.

The hopefulness Sam felt shattered when Dean snorted. "Wow, you sure got kinky."

He gaped at Dean. "I only gave you the money so you'd get in the car with me!"

"Yeah, like I said," Dean shrugged, not looking at him, "kinky."

"I - I just want to take you to Bobby's, okay? I've missed you. He's missed you. We've been looking for you for years." He frowned hard at Dean. In the bright lights surrounding the parking lot, he could see Dean much better. He had a black eye and a split lip, there was an awful bite mark just below the collar on his neck, his wrists were ringed with red marks, like from handcuffs or ropes, and there were scars up and down his arms. "What the hell happened to you?"

Dean reached up and flicked the tags dangling from his collar. "Can't take me out of the city limits, Sammy." He looked over, and he didn't look challenging or angry or anything. Only defeated. "And you left. That's what happened."

"How?" Sam demanded. "How did this happen because of me?" He was angry and upset. Dean had been missing for _years_.

"Don't worry about it. You paid for the whole night." Dean smiled, wide and fake and horrible. "I'll be whoever and whatever you want me to be. So let's go."

Sam gritted his teeth against the screams of rage he wanted to let loose and swallowed hard. He nodded once and shut off the car. "Well, I want to go in and have some dinner. Come with me."

Dean shrugged easily and slid out of the car after Sam, followed him into the restaurant, and sat across from him in a booth near the back. Dean didn't seem inclined to order any food for himself, even when Sam told him he could and said he'd pay for it, so when the waitress came to take their order, Sam got something he knew Dean would like: a cheeseburger with all the fixings. While they waited for their food, Sam snuck a few pictures of Dean and sent them to Bobby, letting him know he'd found Dean and a very basic grasp of the situation. He wasn't sure what, exactly, Dean had meant by not being able to leave the city limits and why the collar mattered, but he had a feeling it was Bobby's brand of weirdness and that he might be able to help.

Dean devoured his food when it was placed in front of him. Sam didn't manage to eat much of his salad, but he'd known he wouldn't be able to. He paid for their food before Dean was finished, and then he found and booked a room in a nearby hotel - a suite, because he figured Dean deserved it after the hell it looked like he'd been through. Once Dean had polished off the last of his fries, Sam herded him back to the car and got them to the hotel as quickly as possible.

In the room, he had to gently push Dean's hands away from him when Dean tried to push him against the door and kiss him and ask him to go shower instead. Dean looked a little hurt - but Sam didn't know why. Was it because he was just so accustomed to being used that he didn't know how to handle rejection? Was there some other factor at play? He tried not to think about it too hard while Dean was in the shower, instead sending a request down to the concierge service at the desk to have them buy some new jeans and shirts and underwear in Dean's sizes - grabbed from the clothes Dean had abandoned in the bedroom.

Sam sat on the couch as he waited for Dean. Bobby hadn't responded, but he was probably asleep like a sane person would be. He just had no clue what to do in this situation. Dean had said he couldn't leave the city, but how was Sam supposed to keep track of him? He didn't think Dean had a phone, so that wasn't an option. And what the hell was up with the collar anyway? Hundreds upon thousands of questions blew through Sam's mind, but he was almost afraid to go looking for some of the answers.

When Dean finally emerged from the bathroom, he had only his towel wrapped low around his waist. Sam gestured at the bed. "Go ahead and get comfortable." He held up his phone. "Got a, uh, work thing I gotta handle." Dean shrugged and climbed into the bed, shucking the towel and tossing it across the room as he went. Sam swallowed hard at the sight of Dean's entire back side. He was covered in scars: thin ones, like lash marks, and tiny round marks like cigarette burns. There were thicker ones Sam wasn't sure he recognized - wasn't sure he wanted to recognize.

But then there were the scars he _did_ remember, like the sunspray of small marks near Dean's shoulder from where Dad had thrown a bottle at Dean at it had shattered and splintered into his shin. He couldn't see Dean's front side, but he imagined he'd have recognized more of them if he had… Dean didn't bother to draw the sheets over himself, just sprawled across the mattress on his front and curled up with a pillow to his chest. He was out like a light in moments, and Sam frowned. How long had it been since Dean had slept?

Sam stood and crossed the room to get a better look at his brother - the one he hadn't seen or spoken to in nearly ten years. It was hard to believe how much time had passed, sometimes. It didn't seem like that long when Sam thought back, but as he looked at Dean's face he could see the lines around his eyes and mouth, the signs of age on a body beaten too hard. He could see Dean's ribs. He lifted one hand and skimmed it over Dean's side, hardly daring to believe Dean was real, that he was here.

Old memories, from when Sam had been so much younger, filtered to the surface for a brief second. He could remember complaining to Dean about being short and not having any abs like Dean - he remembered poking Dean in the side to hit the only ticklish spot on him, punching him during their rare knock-down, drag-out fights, tackling him to the ground and pinning him to prove he'd gotten bigger and stronger once puberty had hit. It was a visceral contrast, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Dean's breath under his palm while recalling so much violence dealt by that same hand - even if most of it had been in jest.

Dean shifted and the spell shattered. Sam nearly snatched his hand away, as if he'd been burned, but Dean arched up into the touch. Sam snapped his eyes up to the side of Dean's face that wasn't smashed into the pillow under his head. His eyes were still closed. Sam slid his hand down Dean's side to the scar on his hip, feeling the changing texture of his skin as he wondered what had caused it, and Dean's mouth parted on the sweetest, softest moan Sam had ever heard.

He probably should have moved his hand away. He probably should have moved back to the couch and allowed Dean to sleep peacefully for the first time in what was probably far too long. He should have done anything else.

But he hadn’t seen Dean in almost ten years, and now here he was.

And Sam was hurting. Jess had died just two months ago. He didn’t think he’d ever be over it. There was this huge, gaping hole in his chest her presence had once filled. He just wanted to forget about her for a while. Alcohol hadn’t helped, and neither had the few drugs he was willing to try that wouldn’t risk his entire life and career. He’d gone out tonight to look for someone exactly like Dean - a _man_, specifically, because he didn’t want gentle curves and breasts or anything that reminded him of Jess in any possible way. He wanted the opposite of her: and he’d found that in Dean.

So why not take advantage of it?

It wasn’t like Dean would complain. Sam snorted softly to himself. Dean probably didn’t really believe he was his brother, anyway. He was too high to function, too high to care.

It wasn’t like this was the first time Sam and Dean had ever done anything, either.

He bent forward, using his other hand to brace his weight on the mattress beside Dean’s back rather than put any of his weight on Dean himself, and he pressed a kiss to Dean’s back. Dean sighed a little, almost content, and Sam raked his teeth over a puckered scar that looked like someone might have stabbed Dean at some point. And there was that soft, delicate moan again. Sam smiled, just a little. Once the panic of finding Dean, of seeing him for the first time in so long, had faded, he’d remembered how much cash he’d had. He’d given Dean nearly five hundred dollars. He figured he’d could do whatever he wanted - he’d paid for it, after all. The collar around Dean's neck reminded him of exactly what sort of position Dean was in, these days. He wanted to wrap his fingers around it, around Dean's throat.

Sam moved away and went to the small overnight bag he’d brought in from the car. There was a reason he’d come to this part of the city, after all, and he’d come prepared. He grabbed the lube and condoms and went back to Dean, eyes trailing from Dean’s feet up his legs, over his ass, across his back and shoulders, and ending at his messy hair and sleep-slack face.

He supposed what Dean had said in the car earlier was true: he really had gotten kinky.

Back when he'd been so much younger and he'd followed Dean to figure out exactly how he earned money for them, he'd watched as an old man (well, he'd seemed old to twelve-year-old Sam, anyway) bent Dean over a table and held the back of his neck as he railed him. When Dean had come home with finger-print bruises around his neck, Sam hadn't asked about them - and Dean had known that Sam had followed him. Dean earned a reputation as a slut at every school they wound up at. It took two more years before Dean finally admitted out loud what he did for money, and two more beyond that before Dean admitted it wasn't so bad, before he offered to take care of Sam, too (it didn't happen a lot, but Sam remembered it so well).

He tossed the lube and condoms on the mattress by Dean’s hip and then gripped Dean’s thigh. Dean grumbled under his breath as Sam shifted him into a better position, one that was more accessible - but, Sam thought distantly, probably not altogether comfortable. He grabbed one of the extra pillows and shoved it under Dean’s hips to lift him a little higher, and that seemed to help even things out a bit. Satisfied, he trailed the tips of his fingers down the back of Dean’s thigh, watching the goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.

One thing was abundantly clear: despite how long it had been, how many scars Dean now bore, he was still strikingly beautiful. Sam bent forward and pressed a kiss to the small burn scar above Dean’s ass, the one that curved around his hip, and he grabbed the lube with his other hand. He wasn’t interested in foreplay and teasing - not right now. He didn’t particularly care if Dean woke up or stayed asleep. He just wanted - needed - the distraction Dean could give him just now. The throbbing, gaping hole inside him where Jess had once lived was overwhelming, and if he didn’t escape it somehow, he wasn’t sure he’d survive much longer.

It had been a while since he’d fucked another man - not since grad school - but it wasn’t hard to remember the basics. He slicked his fingers with lube and pressed them to Dean’s asshole, not caring to be particularly gentle, but also not trying to deliberately hurt him as he pushed his index finger in as deep as he could. There wasn’t much resistance, and Sam sneered just a little. He was grateful Dean wasn’t looking at him to see the expression, though he didn’t try to banish it. He was able to slide in a second finger with only a token protest from Dean’s relaxed body.

Dean himself twitched and shifted and moaned a little. He wasn't quite awake yet, but he was getting there. Sam scissored his fingers a few times, encouraging Dean's hole to continue to stretch and relax. It didn't take much. Then again, Sam hadn't expected it to - Dean was a whore. Why would he be tight and take a lot of prep? Still. Sam pressed his free hand to the narrowest point of Dean's back, right above his hips, and pressed down hard as he worked in a third finger.

"Fuck," Dean whimpered, turning his head so that his forehead was pressed to the mattress and he couldn't see Sam. "Slow - slow down there, buddy."

Sam worked all three fingers deeper and twisted, searching blindly. Dean's entire body undulated with a long moan, his back arching and his hips canting into Sam's fingers, his arms stretching higher over his head, his knees bowing out even further. Sam smirked. "I think you can take it."

"Jesus," Dean panted, bucking his hips even harder into Sam's fingers as Sam continued to rub and poke at Dean's prostate. His hands reached out and gripped the wooden slats of the headboard in front of him.

"Not quite," Sam said, a soft laugh in his voice. He could nearly hear Dean roll his eyes at that comment. "I think you can handle me, now." He tugged his fingers away and used the sheet to wipe them clean, not caring that the linens would be stained. They weren't _his_ sheets.

"That confident, huh?" Dean snarked. Sam almost grinned. Through the ache in his chest from missing Jess and the hint of shame at knowing this was _Dean_ he was treating so badly, he was glad Dean hadn't entirely lost that spark that made him who he was.

"Yeah," Sam said, rolling the condom over his cock and slicking it with extra lube, "I am." He grabbed Dean's hips with both hands to hold him still, then reached down to guide his cock into Dean's ass, taking his time only because he knew he hadn't been thorough with his fingers.

Dean rocked back and forth as he took Sam's dick inch by inch, adjusting slowly to the girth and length. Sam wasn't small, not at all, and while he didn't truly want to hurt Dean, he didn't intend to take his time and play the patient, gentle lover, either. The soft grunts and moans that spilled from Dean's mouth only served to spur him on and encourage him to move faster and take more.

The moment Sam's hips came flush with Dean's ass and he could go no further, Dean choked out a half-sob, half-moan. "Mother fuck," he said, his voice tight and higher than usual.

"You're fine," Sam said, just a hint of condescension in his voice. He gripped Dean's hip tight in one hand and spread his hand across Dean's lower back with his other. He leaned back enough to get a good look at the way his cock impaled Dean, stretching him almost obscenely. He ground his hips in a tight circle, pushing his dick even deeper, and Dean smothered his moan into the mattress. Sam slid out, slowly and not entirely, then pumped his hips into Dean rapidly, making Dean suck in a sharp, pained gasp. He arched his back, trying in vain to move away from Sam's cock, but Sam kept him pinned in place. He slid out again, further this time, and fucked into Dean a little harder, a little quicker.

"Dammit," Dean whimpered - actually _whimpered_. Sam smirked again, feeling powerful for the first time in a long, long time. "Slow down or somethin', man." But still, Dean didn't fight him, and he didn't look.

"I don't think I will," Sam said, a little breathless with the rush. He shifted to brace his knees and began to rut into Dean in earnest, driving his cock into Dean's tight ass harder and deeper each time. Dean whined and complained, but he also arched his back into it. "Get off on a little pain, there, Dean?" Sam asked, feeling breathless and drunk on the sensation of pinning down someone he'd always thought of as bigger and stronger.

"Sooner you come, sooner I get to leave," Dean muttered. He hissed as Sam slowed his thrusts and sank into him deep and hard.

Dean was right, but Sam didn't want Dean to leave - not yet, and certainly not without Sam taking what he wanted first. Everything he wanted. He dragged Dean's hips higher and pushed his upper back into the mattress with his other hand. Once he'd maneuvered Dean into the position he wanted him in, he wrapped his hand around Dean's cock and squeezed the base gently. Dean choked out another moan. Sam watched him tilt his hips up to form the most beautiful arch in his back, and he slammed his cock deep inside Dean once more, making Dean shout.

"You make the most beautiful sounds," Sam said softly, bending down over Dean's back and pressing a wet kiss to the jut of his shoulder. He fucked deep into Dean again and again, closing his eyes and moaning softly at Dean's whining groans.

"Fuck," Dean choked, his voice still too high, too tight. Sam sucked in a sharp breath at the sound. Something about it was intoxicating. "Too much. I can't -"

"You can," Sam insisted, caressing Dean's side. He stroked Dean's cock in time with his thrusts, squeezing just this side of too tight. Dean gasped and his hands tightened on the headboard. "You can take everything I want to give you. I know you can." He bit at Dean's shoulder, not quite hard enough to leave a bruise, but enough to leave some faint impressions of his teeth that would fade soon. Dean shouted another curse. "Are you going to come on my cock, Dean? Prove just how much you really get off on being stuffed so full and fucked so hard it hurts?"

"I can't," Dean said through gritted teeth, his words muffled as he pressed his face harder into the mattress.

"You can," Sam insisted, fucking him faster. "And you will." He jacked Dean's cock roughly, almost too harsh. He pushed himself up again and wrapped his fingers under Dean's collar. It was thick and heavier than it had looked, and he was able to tighten his fingers in it to the point where Dean gasped for air and began to buck backwards, not quite fighting hard enough to throw Sam off, but certainly enough to feel really, really good. His muscles clenched around Sam's cock, and it felt like his ass was trying to milk the come from his balls. Sam tilted his head back and groaned loudly, his fingers tightening around the collar and Dean's dick.

"You feel so good," Sam said, his tone not quite genuine with his praise. "It's like you were built for fucking." He laughed, once, and yanked Dean's hips up even higher. "Come on my cock or not at all, Dean."

Dean choked out some response Sam couldn't understand. Between the mattress and the lack of air, Dean's sounds had been reduced to almost nothing. Sam released his hold on the collar reluctantly, but didn't take his fingers from underneath it. Dean sucked in greedy breaths, and every exhale was a half formed sob.

Sam used the collar to tilt Dean's head to the side and found tracks of tears rolling from his eyes over his face and the mattress damp with them. Something about seeing Dean sob snapped the last shred of control Sam had over himself. He fucked Dean viciously hard, slamming into him so hard the entire bedframe rocked forward. He didn't allow Dean to hide his face as he continued to cry. A few more thrusts, a couple extra twists of his hand, and Dean's come splattered the bed beneath him.

"I told you," Sam panted out, letting go of Dean's dick to smear his come across his back and pin him in place. "You came just like the good whore you are." He wasn't certain where the words were coming from. Those didn't much feel like him, but he groaned as Dean's ass squeezed hot and tight around his cock, trying to stop his movements. His fingers dug into Dean's hips hard enough to bruise as he continued to force his cock deep inside Dean, chasing his pleasure and an end to the empty torment he'd dealt with for so many weeks now.

Dean's shuddering sobs only spurned Sam on to fuck him as fast and hard as he could manage, driving straight for the cliff he wanted to dive off and never return. "Please," Dean begged.

"Please what?" Sam asked raggedly. He dug his fingers under the collar and jerked Dean up by it, bending him practically in half. Dean sobbed even louder, and Sam's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. He sounded and felt better than anything Sam had ever experienced before.

His orgasm blind-sided him. He hadn't felt it coming. There wasn't so much a slow rise toward it as it hit like a bolt of lightning. He moaned, long and loud, and gripped Dean tight to hold him close through the last of the aftershocks. As soon as the moment of pure bliss had subsided, he eased Dean down to the bed and slid away from him, stroking Dean's side and back as he yelped and whimpered from the movement against his probably oversensitive hole and cock.

He left Dean where he was for a moment and went to the bathroom instead, throwing away the condom, warming the water in the sink to wet two washcloths, grabbing a dry towel, and taking a piss and cleaning himself up while he was in there. Dean hadn't moved when he came back out. Rather than question that, Sam began cleaning Dean up: easing over his red and sensitive rim, wiping away the mess he'd smeared into Dean's back, rolling Dean to get rid of the splatters of come he'd fucked him into, and finally switching to the clean washcloth to wipe away Dean's tears and snot and the little bit of drool dried in the corner of his mouth. Finished, Sam tossed the washcloths back into the bathroom.

"Stay put," he instructed, tugging the blankets up over Dean where he'd curled on his side as soon as Sam had stopped touching him. He walked to the other side of the room and raided the mini fridge, grabbing bottles of water and apple juice and a pack of almonds and some cheese. He unloaded his spoils on the bed beside Dean, then climbed over him.

It took some adjusting, but Sam managed to sit with his back against the headboard and Dean's head in his lap. He made Dean drink an entire bottle of water, first.

"You don't have to worry about anything now, okay?" Sam promised. "I can take care of everything." Dean had always taken care of him as a kid, and it was Sam's turn to do so now. He'd gotten bigger, gotten stronger. He had a great job and lived in a beautiful penthouse and made a lot of money. Dean never had to worry about anything ever again. "We'll talk about how to get you to Bobby's tomorrow, okay?"

Dean didn't respond. Sam fed him a single almond at the time, sometimes interspersed with the cheese cubes and sips of apple juice. He combed his fingers through Dean's hair, breathing in the hotel-soap scent and smiling just a little. Dean was relaxed against him, most of the way asleep again already.

Before Sam allowed Dean to sleep, he helped him stand and walked with him to the bathroom. Dean took a piss and washed his hands and even brushed his teeth before facing Sam, his eyes on the floor.

He couldn't quite resist the urge to reach out and wrap his arms around Dean in a tight hug. It took several seconds, but he felt Dean's hands settle on his sides a little hesitantly.

Sam pulled back and looked at Dean in the harsh white bathroom lights. "We're gonna get you away from whoever did all this to you, okay Dean? And I'll take care of you. You won't ever have to do anything like this again."

Dean looked close to tears again, but all he did was nod. Sam led him back to the bed and allowed Dean to get comfortable before draping himself over him.

"I love you, Dean. Don't ever forget that, okay?" Sam whispered. Dean didn't respond, but Sam knew, somewhere under the haze of drugs and whatever the fuck else that was in Dean's system, that he felt the same way. No matter how much they'd fought as kids, they always made up. This time was no exception.

Sam fell asleep with visions of Dean and the Impala running in circles around his mind.


	2. Bobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a glimpse of bobby's life and reaction to finding dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pov will change every chapter depending on which part of the story is important at the time

"What  _ have _ you been staring at for the last ten minutes?" 

Bobby looked up from his phone and found Fergus standing in the archway to the living room with a glass of scotch in hand. He passed over his phone wordlessly. Fergus' eyebrows went up as he saw the pictures and read through the messages Sam had sent late last night. 

"So, the long lost Winchester boy you've been searching for has been found," he said slowly. 

"The one  _ you  _ couldn't find," Bobby reminded him. Fergus nodded absently, poking at the screen to zoom in on a part of the picture. Bobby moved to stand by his side to see what he was looking at so intently and found he'd zoomed in on the collar around Dean's neck. 

It had hurt like hell to see Dean all beaten up with a collar around his neck. He'd known in that instant the sort of shit Dean had been doing, but he hadn't wanted to believe it was true. Sam had sent him a few more messages, though, and it was absolutely true. Sam had found him in one of the worst parts of Chicago on a street widely known as the go-to place for prostitutes.

"This is blood magic," Fergus said, wiggling the phone. "Powerful stuff, too. Some little hedge witch didn't do this."

Bobby's eyes went flat as he met Fergus' gaze. "A demon, then." All Fergus did was nod. "A demon’s had Dean this entire time? And has been, what, whoring him out in Chicago?" Bobby snatched the phone away and walked over to his desk to sketch out all the details he could manage to copy off the collar. He'd need to find a way to break that spell before they went anywhere. 

"It would seem so," Fergus said, following him and stopping on the opposite side of the desk. "I know who is responsible for this. We can take care of it." Bobby looked up at him, but he didn’t say anything.

Sometimes, Bobby wasn't sure about his life choices. He never regretted marrying Karen. He did regret his fight with her about having kids, though. He didn't regret becoming a hunter, but sometimes he wondered if there was a better way to do things, to fight against all the evil shit in the world without risking so much. He questioned his motives every time he thought about going to the crossroads that night five years ago, so damn desperate to find Dean he couldn't bear it anymore. 

He'd gotten a demon named Crowley that had convinced him  _ not _ to sell his soul for Dean's location. He'd been talked into a date, instead. 

"Do you know why, all those years ago, I didn't accept your soul for Dean's location?" Fergus asked. He set his never-empty glass on the desk, and Bobby swiped it and took a drink. He gestured for Fergus to continue. "Because I didn't have the information, and I couldn't get it. I don't make bad deals, and I never go back on my word. You know that. I couldn't bloody well admit that, though, now could I?" 

"You could have," Bobby sighed, "but it doesn't matter. I've known that, or at least suspected, for a while. Why else wouldn't you have told me? I figured Dean was dead and already in Hell, honestly." He sighed heavily and returned the glass, then bent his head over the sketch. All that didn’t much matter, not now. He had to focus on the present. "Tell me about this blood magic. What do you know?"

"Just that it's a binding spell. Keeps a person in a certain radius. As long as they wear the spell, they can't leave that area. The collar probably has another spell on it so that only the maker can remove it. There's more than one tag, there, too, and I'm guessing one of the others has a concealing spell to keep Dean nice and hidden from anyone other than the one who cast the spell. It's complex work, I must admit. Getting that many spells to work together without backfiring is difficult." 

"And you know who it is?" Bobby asked, carefully replicating the sigil he could see. If he could just get Dean out of Chicago, he could figure out the rest of the spells later. He just had to focus on one problem at the time.

"A demon named Alistair," Fergus said. He perched himself on the corner of Bobby's desk. "He's one of Hell's torturers. I'm not certain why he's topside, but the man is truly gifted with a blade." Bobby gave him a sour look, but Fergus only shrugged. "You know what I am, Bobby. I won't apologize for it." 

That was true enough. When Bobby had first met him, he'd thought he was just sort of weird and English. And then they'd talked about Dean, and Bobby realized he was the crossroads demon he'd summoned. By that point, Crowley had already talked Bobby into a second date, and Bobby didn't see the point in saying no when he could use the time to learn more about him - and potentially gain the upperhand over him. It hadn't worked, not at all. Then Bobby had wound up on a hunt, and Crowley appeared to help him and saved his life. After that, Crowley kept popping up. 

He'd been damned annoying for the longest time. And then Bobby had been stabbed. He'd lost all feeling in his legs. 

Crowley fixed him. No soul-selling required. 

After that, Bobby wasn't quite so sour with him, and things progressed from there. Now Bobby called him by his true name, Fergus, and Fergus lived in Bobby's house more often than he lived in Hell. It was nice, this weird thing they did, and Bobby was old and grouchy and he knew he didn't have a lot of years left. He'd take whatever happiness he could get in his hunter's life. If that happiness just happened to come in the form of a crossroads demon, well - so be it. 

"This Alistair," Bobby said, testing the name as he said it, "does he work under you or someone else?" 

"Me," Fergus said. He stood once more and Bobby watched him walk over to the shelves crammed with arcane and ancient texts in various languages. "Here." He picked one of the more unfortunate books in Bobby's collection and brought it over to the desk. "This should help you work out a way to nullify the blood spells. After you've done that, I can deal with Alistair."

"Why not get Alistair out of the way first?" Bobby challenged. It would be a lot easier to do things that way, but Fergus was nothing if not lazy, and he always preferred for others to do the work for him. Bobby had learned to question him every time he said something  _ had  _ to be done a certain way. The best part about Fergus was that he never lied - as long as Bobby knew how to ask the right questions. 

Fergus sighed. "Because, my dear idiot man, if we try to get rid of Alistair first, it could very well kill Dean. Alistair had to use his vessel's blood for the spell as well as Dean's. Removing Alistair from his vessel will kill the body. You know that. Most of these blood spells have nasty traps on them so that if the castor dies, the one marked dies as well. So. Get rid of the spells and the collar first, then we can take out the garbage and burn Alistair's soul from the corpse he's wearing."

Bobby stared down at the sigil from the collar for a moment, then took the book from Fergus and began to flip through it to figure out a counter for it. 

It turned out that the sigil was made up of a lot of tiny parts that all worked together to do one thing - like the way letters make up words and words make sentences. Bobby had to spend the rest of the day teaching himself the entire alphabet of sigils and how to counter every single one of them. It was a nightmare. By the end of it, he thought he’d figured out a solution, even if it was a little chancy and probably not what whoever wrote the book had had in mind when they’d mentioned it. It was a risk, but three quarters of Bobby’s life was nothing but risk. 

"Are you quite finished?" Fergus asked as Bobby groaned and stretched and cracked all the bones he could manage without taking himself out of the game. 

"I need to get a few things together," Bobby said. He gave Fergus a significant look. "I'm not going up against another demon without some salt and holy water." He’d prefer to set a whole room full of devil’s traps, too, but that wasn’t going to be possible, this time, so he’d make due with what he could. 

Fergus chuckled and leaned over to peck a quick kiss to Bobby's cheek. "As long as you don't shoot me, we'll be fine. Save that for the bedroom." Bobby rolled his eyes and shoved Fergus away as he headed for his basement safe-room to grab everything he needed. He stuffed it all in a worn canvas bag and then headed back up the stairs to join Fergus in the kitchen. 

"Know where this demon is?" Bobby asked. 

"To the centimeter," Fergus said with an arrogant smile. Bobby thumped him on the back of the head. "I believe Dean is with him, too. I know Sam is."

"Well, then, let's get moving," Bobby griped. He hitched his bag higher on his arm and reached for Fergus' hand. He hated to go anywhere via demon zapping, but he had to admit it was convenient in a tight bind like this one. 

Fergus grabbed Bobby's hand. There was an intense swooping feeling in Bobby's gut, the kind he always felt when he had falling dreams right before he hit the ground. Then his feet were on solid ground again and he dropped Fergus' hand to reach immediately for his shotgun. 

"Alistair," Fergus called, his voice echoing throughout the large room. "Leave the boy alone. You have other toys to play with." He sounded like he was scolding a little kid, not getting ready to send a demon back to Hell. 

Bobby stepped forward, his hands tightening on the shotgun. Dean was on his knees by an older man's feet. Sam was across the room by the door, seemingly pinned to the wall. There was a flutter just behind Bobby, and he jerked to the side, putting Fergus at his back so he could see the newcomer. It was another man, dressed in a low v-neck shirt and jeans. 

"My, my, what is going on here?" he asked. He reached into the bowl in his hand and tossed a mouthful of popcorn into his hand. Bobby felt a prickle of annoyance spark through him at the arrogance. 

Fergus sighed, annoyed. "This doesn't concern you, angel." 

"I'm simply here for the entertainment," the man said with a smirk. He looked away from them, and Bobby followed his gaze to where it lingered on Dean, still kneeling at who Bobby figured was Alistair's feet. 

"Let Dean go," Bobby demanded, feeling sick at the way Dean’s head was bowed, his arms wrapped so tightly around himself. "Sam, too." He couldn’t explain why it made him feel so terrible, why it hurt so much - didn’t know what had caused it. He knew it was  _ wrong _ , though, and he knew he had to get Dean away from the demon beside him.

"Why would I do that?" Alistair asked, his voice cold and smarmy. Bobby sneered at him and raised his gun. "You think that little toy can hurt me?" He chuckled, arrogant. 

"Bobby," Fergus warned. "Let me handle this." He stepped forward, blocking most of Bobby's view of Alistair. "Release the boy. You have no business up here, anyhow. Why aren't you in Hell where you belong?" Bobby elbowed Fergus in the back and stepped to the side so he could see. He wasn’t going to miss any part of what was happening. He couldn’t risk it. 

This was  _ Dean  _ they were rescuing. Dean, the kid he’d thought of as his own since the boy was just five years old. Dean, who he’d let down. Dean, for whom he’d searched for nearly ten years and had failed so terribly.

"I needed more souls," Alistair said, slipping a wicked looking blade from somewhere and holding it up to admire it. "They're just so… fascinating when they're still alive. How could I resist?" He reached down and curled his fingers into Dean's hair and jerked his head back, then pressed the blade to Dean's face just under his eye. "This one is ripe for the picking, now. He'll make an exquisite demon, don't you think?" 

"I said, back off." Fergus snapped his fingers, and he and Alistair vanished from the room in a loud crack. Bobby watched as the one Fergus had called 'angel' appeared by Dean's side just as Dean began to sag to the left and cradled him in his arms, whispering quietly to him and petting his hair. It made the hairs on the back of Bobby's neck stand on end to see Dean brought so low, but he turned his attention to Sam for the moment, jogging over to him to make sure he was okay. 

"Oh thank god," Sam said, clapping Bobby on the shoulder as soon as he got close. "I'm so glad you're here. We gotta get Dean out of here. This guy - Alistair - he  _ owns _ Dean or something. I'm not sure." Sam gave Bobby a sideways look. "How'd you get here, anyway?"

"It's a long story, kid," Bobby sighed. "I'll explain everything later. For now, we've got to get that collar off Dean." Sam nodded and walked beside Bobby as they headed for where Dean was still curled up in the angel's arms. Dean was crying, and the sight broke Bobby's heart. 

He knelt beside Dean and reached out to touch him. It stung when Dean flinched from him, but he understood. God, did he ever understand. "Hey, Dean. Listen. We need to get this collar off you so we can get you out of here, okay? Will you let me do that?" The angel shifted so that Dean could look at Bobby easier, and Bobby was at least grateful for the angel’s cooperation. He’d worry about the entire existence of angels and that crisis later.

"You can do that?" Dean asked, rubbing at his face with his palms to dry his tears. He sniffed and struggled to sit upright, but the angel made a soft shushing sound and encouraged him to relax again. Surprisingly, Dean did.

"Yep," Bobby said with a nod. "That's what took me so long to get here after Sam told me he'd found you. I had to figure out how this thing works." He reached out and touched the small tag linked to the collar. "Won't take long." 

"It's blood magic," the angel warned. 

"I know," Bobby said. He slung his bag to the ground and began to dig through it. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Balthazar. Angel of the Lord. Well, former, I suppose." He smirked and rubbed Dean's arm affectionately. "Dean here is one of my favorites to visit. I like to take care of him when I can." The look on the angel’s face was soft and tender, but Bobby didn’t like it.

Bobby snorted. "Whole lotta good you've done him." He was angry - not really with Blathazar, but with himself. It was just easier to take it out on Balthazar.

"I can't tamper with blood magic," Balthazar said with a shrug. Bobby hated that he didn’t sound angry about it or even resigned. He simply stated it as a fact. "Not when a demon has performed it and mixed it the way Alistair has done." 

Bobby found the slim silver knife he was looking for and sat up to face them, a sour look on his face. Dean was scowling. He paused, confused. What had he done wrong? 

"Balthazar is nice, okay? Don't give him any shit. He helps me out, just like he said he did." Dean shifted so that his back was pressed to Balthazar's chest. "He doesn't hurt me. And where do you get off trying to judge him, huh? You weren't fucking _ here _ , Bobby." 

"Dean…" Sam protested softly.

That cut through Bobby's chest like a hot knife through butter. He felt himself deflate and his shoulders sag. "You're right," he admitted with a nod. "We didn't do enough to find you. And I'm sorry. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make that up to you. But right now I want to get you away from this demon. Will you let me do that?" 

Dean nodded, but Bobby could see him squeeze Balthazar's hand tightly. He showed Dean the knife in his hand. "If I'm right, this knife can cut through that magic." He looked up at the angel. "You got angel mojo?" Balthazar nodded. "Can you heal him?"

"Not with the bonds on the collar," Balthazar said, shaking his head. 

"But you can once they're gone?" Sam asked, his eyes wide. "You can heal all of him? The drugs and everything?" It shouldn't surprise Bobby that Dean was strung out, but it still hurt - another aching pang ripping into his heart. He had failed Dean beyond measure. 

"I can heal him," Balthazar said, "but I can't detox him." He pressed a soft kiss to Dean's temple. Although it made Bobby's stomach turn to see it, Dean seemed to relax after it. If it made Dean feel better, Bobby wouldn't protest. 

"Okay," Bobby said with a nod. "We'll handle that together." He wasn't worried about it. His basement safe-room was the perfect place for Dean to detox. He reached up and grasped the collar in one hand and began carefully cutting at the leather-like material while trying to avoid Dean's skin. 

It wasn't easy to keep the knife tip away from Dean's neck, and it was very hard to slice through the tough material without a serrated edge. He didn't stop, though. He wouldn't. Dean deserved to be free to make his own decisions. The sigils carved into the leather began to glow bright and hot, and the knife in Bobby’s hand warmed to the point where he almost couldn’t bear to hold it. He shifted his grip, covering the grip with his sleeve, and kept sawing, nicking Dean’s skin but getting though the second half of the collar in just a few seconds. 

Balthazar pressed his hand to the angry red burns on Dean’s neck as soon as the collar fell away, and a moment later, the marks faded. Not just the burns on Dean’s neck, but also the black eye and split lip. Bobby imagined there were a number of other marks Balthazar healed, as well, but he didn’t want to think about that. He gathered the collar in a cloth and stuffed it into the canvas bag. He’d have to find a good way to melt it down and get rid of it permanently back at the house. 

“Let me take him,” Balthazar said. 

“No,” Sam protested immediately. “He needs to come with us to Bobby’s so we can help him.”

“He’s detoxing,” Balthazar snapped, holding up one of Dean’s badly shaking hands to show them proof. “If he doesn’t get a hit of something soon, he’ll start getting sick. You do realize he’ll need to detox slowly, right? Otherwise, he could seize and die.” 

Bobby froze for a moment. He hadn’t thought about that. But it was true. He had nothing on hand to help Dean through his withdrawls. He couldn't provide a safe way for him to come down, not right now. He looked at Dean, who was pale and sweating. It wasn’t up to Bobby - or Sam or Balthazar - to make this decision. 

“Dean, what do you want to do?”

“Bobby, he needs to come with us,” Sam insisted, giving Balthazar a dirty look. “He’s sick. We can get him into rehab or something. I - I’ll call some people, figure out a good place for him.” 

Bobby shook his head and held up a hand to stave off any further arguments. “Sam, just - let Dean make his own decision, okay? Let him choose.” He looked at Dean again. “Where do you want to go?”

“With Balthazar,” Dean answered quietly, his shoulders hunching. 

“Okay,” Bobby said with a nod. He looked at the angel. “Where do you plan to take him? I need to find out what’s going on with that demon that was holding Dean captive, and I’ve got to catch Sam here up on a lot of shit. As soon as we’ve got things ready for Dean, we’ll come and get him.” 

“Very well,” Balthazar said with a nod. “It’s sixty-five East Goethe street. Number eight. The doorman probably won’t let you up, but I’ll tell him to expect you in the next few days anyhow.” A moment later, he was gone, and Dean went with him.

Sam turned on Bobby. “Why would you let him go?” He sounded more anguished than outraged. “We just - we  _ just _ found him! After almost ten years, Bobby. I wanted my brother back. How could you just -”

“Sam, he was right. We don’t have what Dean needs right now. Besides, even if this guy didn’t take Dean where he said he was, we can find him now. I swear. You just need to trust me, okay?” He grabbed his bag and climbed to his feet, then held out his hand for Sam, who blinked up at him with big, sad eyes. “We have a lot to talk about, boy. Come on. Let’s go find the other two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)  
[ @ ](https://twitter.com/wingsofwaxx)  
[me bro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)


	3. Balthazar

Dean had always been his favorite. Even compared to all the other times he'd come to Earth, there was none quite like Dean. He was exquisite in every way. Beautiful green eyes, the most perfect body he'd ever had the pleasure of enjoying, and just enough of a snippy attitude to prove he hadn't been completely defeated - not yet. He had the most beautiful soul, too. Even with all the terrible things he'd done and experienced, his soul was still pure - just a bit, but enough to matter, enough to count. It was so uncommon to see such a bright soul wandering amongst humans - much less the filth with which Dean associated. So, Balthazar had inquired after him, had discovered who he was and that he was owned by a demon, had kept a close eye on him for the last few years - fed him, clothed him, paid for days of his company at the time so Dean could rest and recuperate. 

Now that Dean was free from Alistair, Balthazar hoped he could continue to see him and spend time with him, though he imagined Dean might not feel the same. He would have this last day with Dean, then, and enjoy it as much as he could.

Healing Dean had been simple, but like he'd told Sam Winchester, he couldn't get rid of the drugs already saturating his system. He settled Dean on the chaise lounge in the master bedroom, instead, and then moved to retrieve the stash he kept specifically for Dean's needs. It wasn't much. The ketamine helped him feel, in his words, loose and like he was floating, and the MDMA made him, as Balthazar had personally witnessed, more apt to cuddle and vastly more receptive to touch. They were low doses, cut with far too much methamphetamines, he was sure, but they would do the trick. Dean took the tiny pills Balthazar pressed to his lips and swallowed them down with sips from the bottle of juice he'd materialized. 

"Let's get you in the bath, shall we?" Balthazar asked with a small smile. Dean nodded, though he didn't move. Balthazar petted his hair once he stood, then retreated to the en suite bathroom to fill the tub and get the water exactly perfect. He added oils and left a variety of soaps within easy reach, along with towels and washcloths and anything else he could think of. Once he got Dean in the water, he didn't want to leave him for anything at all. *If this was the last day he was to spend with Dean, he’d enjoy every second of it as much as he possibly could. 

He returned to Dean, laying lax and content on the small sofa, and scooped him tight to his chest, one hand around his back to hold him tight, the other drawing Dean’s arm across his shoulders and keeping him pinned there, and he encouraged Dean to walk a little to get to the en suite. It wasn’t far, after all. As soon as Balthazar had Dean beside the tub, he stood him upright and kissed him softly, smiling just a little up at Dean’s beautiful face. Dean gave him a dopey, drugged out smile in return and leaned even closer, his arms wrapping around Balthazar’s waist. 

“Now, now,” Balthazar said gently, prying Dean’s arms away, “it’s not time for that just yet.” He smiled to take away any sting Dean might feel - he knew Dean didn’t take rejection well at all - and he slid his fingers under the hem of Dean’s shirt. He didn’t recognize this one. It looked and smelled new, and he assumed Sam Winchester, the long-lost brother Dean had sometimes mentioned when he was at his most hazy, must have purchased it for him. Dean hummed happily and stretched his arms over his head, so Balthazar did away with shirt, casting it off to the side for now. He could wash it later. 

He’d been the only one to genuinely care for Dean in so long. It was odd to think there were others out there that were concerned for Dean’s welfare. He knew of only one other - Death himself - and Balthazar wouldn’t dare to presume to know  _ his  _ justifications for anything he did. But now he’d likely lose Dean forever to his brother and the valiant Bobby Singer, Crowley’s human lover, and he wasn’t sure if he should accept that or not. 

Banishing those thoughts for now, he focused his attention on what he had before him: Dean’s beautiful form, scarred but tall and lean - if a little too skinny for comfort. 

He was infinitely gentle as he unbuttoned Dean’s jeans - also new from the look of them, and considering Balthazar was normally the one to supply Dean with new clothes and these weren’t a pair he’d bought - and slid them down over Dean’s hips and ass. If his brother had bought him new underwear, Dean hadn’t bothered to wear them. He rarely did, Balthazar had found. He knelt and tugged the jeans off first one foot, then the other, and then tossed the jeans to the same spot as the shirt. When he stood, Dean was already flushed light pink from his cheeks down to his chest. 

“So very lovely,” Balthazar said softly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek. He took Dean’s hand and turned him, helping him step into the tub and supporting his shaky balance. Dean sank into the hot water slowly, sloshing a little over the edge of the tub to splatter over the marble floor, but Balthazar didn’t pay it much attention other than to throw a spare towel over the mess. 

He knelt on the small ledge next to the tub and stroked his fingers over Dean’s chest and arms. Dean closed his eyes and sighed, appearing utterly content. “I love this tub,” he murmured softly. “Gonna miss it.”

Balthazar pressed his lips into a thin line. “You don’t want to see me again, then?” He hoped he didn’t sound too resigned. It wasn’t his intention. He just wanted to confirm his suspicions. 

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head to look at Balthazar. He grasped Balthazar’s hand and squeezed his fingers. “Of course I do,” he said, quiet but intense. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again. Not - not with this shit with my brother and everything.” He shrugged, self conscious and almost ashamed, and Balthazar had to resist the urge to lean over the edge of the tub to kiss him. 

“Oh, sweet boy,” Balthazar murmured, his free hand stroking a wet trail over Dean’s cheek. “I will always want you.” He was a little taken aback by just how true it was, and how he hadn’t realized it until just that moment. But they could deal with that a little later. Dean was too high for a proper negotiation, and Balthazar didn’t want to take advantage of that. 

Dean’s mouth dropped open a little in shock, and Balthazar couldn’t stop himself from leaning over to kiss him soundly, licking into his mouth and sucking at his bottom lip. Dean made a soft, quiet noise in his mouth, and Balthazar backed off just enough to smile at him. He rubbed his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, admiring the chapped, red texture. 

“You truly are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he said, soft, with just a hint of a smile. Dean’s flush darkened further, and Balthazar wanted to laugh. He could say the filthiest, most vile things, and Dean wouldn’t blush at all, but the moment he complimented him, he pinked right up. 

Satisfied with just the one kiss for the moment, Balthazar reached for the showerhead attachment and turned on the water. He soaked Dean’s hair and scrubbed shampoo into it thoroughly, scratching along Dean’s scalp and massaging his head just a little, trying to encourage him to relax as much as possible. 

Dean sighed, content, and Balthazar gently rinsed the shampoo from his hair before adding a generous amount of conditioner. He had beautiful hair, and Balthazar didn’t like the thought of Dean being unable to care for himself properly. When he could, he did that sort of thing for him. 

While the conditioner sat in Dean’s hair, Balthazar took up some of the exfoliating soap he’d set out and he began to scrub Dean’s skin. He started with Dean’s fingers and worked his way up his arm to his shoulder. He scrubbed across his chest and back and up his neck, then went down the other arm to his fingertips once more. He then moved down to Dean’s feet and scrubbed from toes up to his thighs and repeated the process for his other leg. Getting Dean to move to sit on his knees so Balthazar could scrub the rest of him took some coaxing, but he eventually managed. 

He took his time, teasing the rough soap over Dean’s nipples and huffing a little laugh at Dean’s sweet little moan - practiced and encouraging and, by this point, second-nature. Dean so rarely let go and just  _ accepted  _ pleasure. He had to turn everything into a performance. 

Not that Balthazar minded. It was usually quite entertaining, which was the point of course, but Balthazar didn’t want the act this time. 

"Shh," he said softly, pressing his lips to Dean's cheek and ear. "Just… take it. Don't pretend for me. Not this time." Dean looked confused, but he bit down on his lip instead of continuing to moan or arching his back the way Balthazar expected. "Perfect," he praised. "Absolutely perfect." 

He pinched and twisted at Dean's nipples, nothing too rough, but enough to get his attention. He knew Dean had become so accustomed to pain that he couldn't get off without it, which was utterly fascinating in an entirely different way, but that wasn't Balthazar's focus. Once he deemed Dean's nipples sensitive enough for later play, he moved on, scrubbing the rough soap over Dean's stomach and sides and back. He cleaned Dean everywhere - down over his cock and between his ass cheeks and over the tops of his thighs up to his hips. 

He added a little more soap to his hand and wrapped it around Dean's cock. The chunks in the soap for exfoliating raked rough over his cock as Balthazar stroked him - long, slow motions with a wicked sharp twist right around the head that had Dean digging one hand into Balthazar's shoulder and the other gripping the side of the tub for dear life as he struggled to stay upright. 

Balthazar bit at Dean's neck and sucked red marks into his skin wherever he pleased. Dean's head fell back on a long, low groan as Balthazar's free hand slipped between his ass cheeks and rubbed over his puckered hole, not quite pressing in, just feeling it - exploring. 

"Fuck," Dean murmured, his voice already wrecked. "C'mon, please. Don't tease me." He cracked open one eye to look at Balthazar, so he smiled for Dean and kissed his cheek again. 

"Very well." He slid his hands away from Dean's cock and ass and maneuvered Dean back into the water. At Dean's little pouting frown, Balthazar asked, "What's wrong?"

"You stopped," Dean said, his voice small and uncertain. 

Balthazar grabbed the shower attachment and showed it to him. "We have to finish rinsing you clean first. Then we can continue." Dean nodded, though he still looked unhappy, and relaxed against the back slope of the tub where Balthazar directed him. He kept his eyes shut and stayed nice and lax as Balthazar rinsed the conditioner from Dean's hair and the soap from his body. 

By the time he'd finished, Dean's skin was soft and practically glowing. He reached over and flipped the little switch on the edge of the tub by the main faucet to drain the tub, but kept the showerhead attachment running, merely adjusting the temperature. 

"Flip over on your knees," Balthazar instructed, helping Dean shift in the confined space and sit up on his knees exactly the way he wanted him. He had Dean prop his arms on the ledge of the tub and rest his head on them, then he moved the opposite direction and prodded at Dean's ass, separating his cheeks and brushing his thumbs over Dean's pink hole. 

The best part about healing Dean was that it healed  _ all  _ of him - including tightening him up as if he'd never before been touched. For all intents and purposes, he was once again a virgin. Balthazar couldn't wait to wreck him. 

"Relax," he said, soft and soothing. Dean obeyed beautifully, his muscles draining of tension and his body rocking forward so his weight was equally balanced and he could keep himself upright the way Balthazar wanted at the same time. "Perfect," he said, smoothing one hand up Dean's back. "Absolutely beautiful." Dean sighed, a content little noise, and Balthazar smiled. 

He grabbed the shower attachment and sprayed the shower spray across Dean's back and ass, then shifted the spray to focus on Dean's hole. He turned down the water for less pressure and shifted the spray type to a single stream. With one hand, he pressed his fingers to Dean's hole and spread it open as wide as he could. He held the spray against Dean's hole and watched as his body fought it for a long moment, the spray mostly running down into the emptying bottom of the tub. 

And then Dean relaxed again, and Balthazar smiled as he opened up beautifully, taking in the water. Balthazar murmured soft words of encouragement as he pressed the sprayer closer to Dean's ass, letting less and less water flow back out of him as it ran clear. He trapped the sprayer tight to Dean's hole and rubbed the small of Dean's back with his free hand as the warm water began to fill him. 

"Shit," Dean whimpered softly. "That's gotta be enough, right?" He sounded just a little bit distressed, his body rocking forward slightly in an attempt to escape. Balthazar held tight. 

"Not yet," he said. He bent and kissed Dean's ass cheek, then nipped it gently with his teeth. "I want to fill you up first. Will you let me do that?" Dean nodded against his arms and spread his knees a little wider, digging them into the edges of the tub, and arched his back lower so his ass was presented like the prettiest picture. "Beautiful. You're positively perfect." 

Dean hid his face. "Jesus. Kinda feels like I got cramps or something." 

"Not much longer," Balthazar said, sliding his hand down to Dean's stomach and pressing his fingers into the slightly distended flesh. Dean groaned. He dragged his fingers, still pressed deep into Dean's skin, down toward Dean's dick, and Dean's moan increased in pitch if not volume. "There you are," Balthazar said. "Just like that." He wrapped his hand around Dean's flagging erection and gave him a few quick strokes to keep him where he wanted him. "Gorgeous. Absolutely magnificent."

"Please," Dean gasped when Balthazar pressed his hand back to his stomach. "Please." 

"All right," he allowed, taking the sprayer away but not letting up on any of the pressure. The water spilled from Dean in fits and starts as Dean fought to let it out and fought not to at the same time. Balthazar took up the lube from the edge of the tub and smeared it over his fingers before easing in one and, once Dean had taken it well, then a second. He scissored his fingers open and whatever water left inside Dean trickled out. Balthazar rinsed him again, including inside him, and then finally took his fingers away and shut off the water. 

He grabbed one of the nearby towels and wrapped Dean in it snugly, then helped him to his feet and out of the tub. Dean sagged against Balthazar, letting him hold his weight as Balthazar scrubbed a different towel through his hair to dry him. Balthazar then led Dean out to the bedroom and over to the large bed, helping Dean climb into it and crawling over on top of him to kiss him gently, tenderly. 

"Thank you," Balthazar said in a near-whisper. "My sweet, perfect Dean." Dean was bright pink again in an instant, but Balthazar paid it no mind. "Always following all my instructions so perfectly," he said as he kissed a light, teasing trail down Dean's neck to his chest. "Letting me clean you up and get you all ready just for me." He nudged Dean's thighs apart with his knee and slid one hand up along the inside of Dean's thigh until he reached his balls. "Taking everything I choose to give you." He closed his lips around one of Dean's nipples and sucked on it, flicking his tongue over it. 

He summoned a bottle of lube with his free hand and smeared lube liberally over his fingers before pushing two back inside Dean slowly and gently. Dean's fingers twisted in the sheets as he fought to keep himself still for Balthazar's ministrations. Balthazar glanced up at him and smirked, then closed his teeth around Dean's nippled and tugged, rolling it between his teeth at the same time. Dean whined, high and soft, in the back of his throat. 

His nipples were so tender and delicate. Balthazar had often thought about having them pierced. Dean couldn't quite come from only having his nipples played with, but he always got so close. He was almost certain Dean would be able to come purely because of his nipples if they were pieced. He'd heard such lovely things about how they got so much more tender - and how a little bit of ice went quite a long way. 

Balthazar switched to the other nipple just as he added a third finger, working Dean open slowly and thoroughly. He enjoyed tormenting Dean, but he didn't like genuinely hurting him. Enough torture could be gained through pleasure that Balthazar didn't often see the point in sadism. 

Poor Dean was a bit of a masochist, though, and Balthazar would never let it be said - even from a former whore - that he didn't provide his lovers exactly what they wanted or needed. So he bit down around Dean's nipple, not on it, hard enough to leave a little bit of an impression of his teeth that would last a few minutes at least. 

Dean moaned, beautiful and high and soft, the sound breaking just the slightest toward the end before Dean sucked in a sharp breath and turned his face away from Balthazar's gaze, squeezing his eyes shut tight. 

Balthazar leaned up and turned Dean's head to the side, grasping his chin tightly, and kissed him hard, not even allowing Dean to catch his breath as he licked into his mouth and sucked on his tongue and lip and bit at him just a little for that hint of pain Dean liked so much. Dean reached up with one hand and began to tug on his own hair, whining softly as Balthazar devoured him. He eased his pinky in with the other three fingers, and Dean's body didn't try to resist as much that time, accepting him quickly and almost easily. 

He broke the kiss, leaving Dean panting and yanking on his hair. "I want you on your knees," Balthazar said, keeping his voice pitched soft and tender rather than cold and demanding. He smoothed one hand down Dean's chest to feel his heart pounding away under his sternum. "I am going to tie your wrists to the headboard, and your head is going to stay on the pillow. Your ass stays in the air, knees apart. Make sense?" Dean nodded, still a little breathless. "Perfect, my sweet one. I'll help you get to exactly where I want you, but it is up to you to stay there, hm?" 

"Yeah," Dean said with a nod, taking a moment to swallow hard. "Okay. I can do that."

Balthazar kissed him again. "I know you can. You always obey my requests." He smiled for Dean, then helped him roll to his side and then his front so he was mostly in the center of the bed. Balthazar snapped his fingers, and a length of silk rope appeared in his hands. He preferred to tie Dean himself. He enjoyed the look and feel of the rope on Dean's skin and between his hands. So he tied pretty, intricate knots that came loose easily, binding Dean's wrists to each other and then to the headboard in front of him. That done, he tugged at Dean's hips, encouraging him to lift them and rise to his knees. As always, Dean moved exactly where Balthazar directed, holding his place when he let go. 

Dean's perfect ass was displayed at the best level for easy access by the time Balthazar had finished moving Dean into position. He poured more lube over his hand and pushed three fingers back inside Dean, experiencing only the slightest resistance. Dean was too perfectly relaxed. Balthazar had enjoyed tying Dean down before because it always made him lax and loose, but he wondered what Dean might look like or feel like while fully suspended in the air. It was a concern for later. He eased his pinky into Dean's ass and rubbed his free hand over Dean's back to relax him. 

"'Many's that?" Dean asked, already slurring. 

Balthazar smiled. "Four fingers." He spread them inside Dean, and Dean whimpered softly - though not from discomfort. "I am going to put my entire hand inside you, and after you've come from that and you're loose and relaxed, I'm going to fuck you." 

Dean moaned as Balthazar twisted his fingers and caught his prostate. "Oh, fuck," Dean gasped, rocking his hips back very slightly into the movement. 

"That's the idea, yes," Balthazar said with a soft laugh. He nudged his thumb in with his other fingers and marveled at how open Dean was already. He hadn't often had the occasion to do this, but the sight was mesmerizing. He bent and kissed Dean's ass cheek. "You are exquisite, my darling. Oh, if you could only see yourself." He hummed softly even as Dean vigorously shook his head. "Mm, if you insist." 

He'd had fun once before, tormenting Dean in front of a mirror and making him watch himself. Balthazar loved Dean's body - scars and all, but Dean didn't quite feel the same way. He'd done it in an attempt to make Dean feel a little better about himself, but it had backfired rather spectacularly. Balthazar tended to keep his opinions regarding Dean's body to himself after that. But he truly was one of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever seen. 

He continued nudging his fingers deeper inside Dean, watching as his rim stretched at the pressure from his knuckles as he tried to push them through the taut muscle. Dean wasn’t fighting him - he never did, he was too well behaved for that - but it simply took time for his newly-healed body to adjust to taking so very much at once. So, Balthazar took his time, pushing a few of his knuckles at the time through the thick ring of muscle, stretching it wider and encouraging it to loosen around his hand, adding more lube every now and again. Dean whimpered under him, tugging lightly at the restraints on his wrists, not quite fighting the hold, but almost acting as if he needed to test that it was still there, that it could ground him. 

Finally, Balthazar worked all his knuckles in past the rim and curled his fingers in toward his palm. Dean groaned and pressed his forehead into the pillow beneath him, his back arching just a little more as he tried to adjust to the sensation. 

“‘S too much,” he said through quick, short breaths. 

“Nonsense,” Balthazar said, holding still while Dean grew accustomed to the size and weight of the entire fist deep within him. “Deep breaths, Dean. I know you can.” Dean whined, but he also obeyed, dragging in a deep breath like it almost hurt him to do it. “Excellent. Just like that. Keep breathing.” Balthazar kept one hand pressed to Dean’s back between his shoulderblades, high enough where he could feel Dean’s heart beating. He didn’t move, not until Dean’s heart stopped racing, not until it had slowed to a more normal rhythm.

“There you are,” Balthazar said with a smile. He bent just enough to press a kiss to Dean’s hip again. “My perfect boy. I think you’re ready for more, yes?” Dean nodded his head, though he didn’t seem willing to speak. Balthazar shifted the hand he had inside Dean and waited until he heard Dean’s breath catch, until he felt Dean’s body tense a bit, until he knew he’d found Dean’s prostate and could mercilessly rub at it. 

He twisted his wrist and pushed his knuckles forward and backward over the little sweet spot, smiling as Dean began to writhe beneath him. The soft, barely-there moans of earlier turned into longer, deeper groans. Dean stopped fighting to stay still and began fighting to move his hips even more, chasing his own pleasure rather than allowing Balthazar to take his own from him. 

It was always so beautiful when Dean managed to let go of his fears and worries about his  _ performance _ and open up to whatever Balthazar wanted to give him. 

“Don’t hold back, Dean,” Balthazar said, keeping his lips pressed close to Dean’s back. “Come whenever you like.” He pressed his fist deeper inside him, scraping his knuckles over Dean’s prostate again and again as he drew his fist out so far his knuckles stretched his rim wide before pushing in until Dean had taken half his arm. “You’re doing so well, taking everything so beautifully.”

Dean murmured half-coherent curses and pleas, but Balthazar didn’t relent, at one point finding Dean’s prostate and spending a long, long moment doing nothing more than dragging his knuckles over it in a wicked twisting motion. He only stopped when Dean was shaking so hard he could only barely keep himself upright. 

He nibbled at Dean’s ass as he tugged his hand nearly all the way free, his fingers playing across Dean’s prostate, and then Dean came with a shout - no warning, no begging like usual, nothing at all. 

Balthazar worked Dean through it, finally wrapping his free hand around Dean’s cock and stroking him as the last few spurts shot from it, and easing his wrist, knuckles, and fingers from Dean’s hole inch by slow inch as he spasmed around them. He grabbed Dean’s ass cheeks and spread them wide, watching his hole flutter and attempt to squeeze tight around open air. 

“So beautiful,” Balthazar said quietly. He blew a cool stream of air across Dean’s rim and watched as Dean jerked his hips, but he had a firm grip on him, and Dean didn’t make it more than an inch or so before he was right back where Balthazar wanted him. “Now I do believe it’s my turn.” He released Dean and slid off the bed to undress, taking his time as Dean’s glazed-over expression slowly began to reset and gain awareness. Some of the haze in his eyes was the drugs, some of it was his orgasm, and some was his descent into subspace. Regardless of which was the cause, Balthazar liked to give Dean a little time before jumping straight to the next planned event, and he liked it when Dean watched him, too - his eyes hungry even glazed over as they were. 

Stripped down to nothing, Balthazar took another moment to worship Dean’s shoulders and back with soft kisses, bringing him back to awareness by slow degrees. He kept his cock pressed right between Dean’s ass cheeks, but he didn’t press inside him, not yet. He preferred to take his time, to draw things out. Besides, he didn’t know if he’d get to have this with Dean ever again. 

He spent a long time kissing every freckle, every scar, every line on Dean’s body. He quietly praised each mark, each flaw, every muscle and bone. He lauded Dean’s strength and resilience, complimented his adorable blush, petted his hair and sides and ass and thighs, and spent a few moments delicately tracing the still-stretched wide rim of Dean’s asshole with his tongue. 

Finally, Dean began to respond a little. Whimpering softly and hiding his face from Balthazar’s comments, trying to inch his way away from whatever was teasing his puffy rim at that moment. Balthazar sucked and nipped at it, wanting to grin as Dean cried out at the touch. But it was time for him to take his own pleasure, and then he could torment Dean more later if there was time. He had no idea how long Dean would sleep, after all. 

He poured a liberal spread of lube over his cock and smeared more across and inside Dean’s hole, laughing softly at Dean’s grouchy protest that it was chilly. 

The first thrust inside Dean was deep and seemed nearly unending. Dean's muscles were fighting to tighten around Balthazar's cock. Dean was warm and fluttering around his cock, and he gripped his hips to pin him exactly where he wanted him. He didn't relent for a moment, thrusting hard and fast. Dean twisted his wrists against the silk rope, trying to push back into Balthazar's cock. He shifted his angle a little, and Dean shouted as Balthazar began to nail his prostate. 

Dean felt loose and sloppy and  _ used _ , and there was something about knowing that Balthazar had done all that himself that felt correct, like everything was right with the universe. He wanted nothing more than to keep Dean here with him forever, to make sure he was always well looked after and had everything he could possibly want and make sure he was content. But it wasn't meant to be, so Balthazar would take what pleasure he could while he had the opportunity. He groaned low and soft, his head falling back, as he continued to hammer into Dean's ass, and it felt glorious. 

His orgasm built slowly and quickly. On the one hand, Balthazar knew it was coming, could feel his balls tightening and drawing up and his cock hardening just that much more. On the other hand, however, it seemed to hit him from nowhere that he was about to come and he was helpless to stop it. 

He slammed into Dean a few more times, rough and messy, his hands pulling Dean's hips back so that they felt twice as hard and deep, and then he buried his cock deep inside Dean and came for what felt like forever. 

Dean remained still beneath him, shaking and panting softly. Balthazar rubbed his hips and back, enjoying the feeling of Dean's ass attempting to squeeze his softening cock. He remained inside Dean until he was fully soft, and only then did he pull out, watching as little globs of come and lube dribbled out of Dean's hole. 

"So good for me, Dean," Balthazar said quietly. He slid away from Dean and plucked at the ties on his wrists to free him. Dean listed to the side immediately, but Balthazar caught him and gathered him close to his chest before he could curl up on his side. "Let's clean you up first, hm?" Dean nodded against Balthazar's chest, and he rewarded him with a kiss to his forehead. 

It took only a few minutes to get Dean propped on the bench built into the wall in the shower. He took his time showering both himself and Dean, getting them clean and rinsing all the lube and come out of Dean's hole. He whined and flinched away nearly the entire time, finally feeling tender and oversensitive. Balthazar eventually patted Dean and himself dry and then bundled Dean in his bed.

He lay flat with his head on the pillows, and Dean curled around him, resting his head on Balthazar's chest and squeezing one arm around his waist. Balthazar drew the blanket up to cover Dean's shoulders, then, with a thought, summoned a bottle of water with a straw in it. He had Dean drink a full bottle of water before he allowed him to settle comfortably into sleep, one of his hands never stopping as he petted Dean's hair. 

He'd allow Dean to sleep and rest and recover, for now, and when he woke, they could speak about whether or not Balthazar would be welcome to visit Dean in the future and what those visits might include. He was, quite honestly, looking forward to it. He always enjoyed the time he spent with Dean, even if he only had Dean's warm body pressed against his while he slept so peacefully. 


End file.
